Heart of the Mob
by urbestnightmare
Summary: Edward is the new godfather after the murder of his dad. Bent on revenge, he and his brothers will stop at nothing to avenge their father's death. Betrayal lies around the corner, but from whom? AH/OOC/AU
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1** (Silence)

* * *

 **Omertà** : (as practiced by the mafia) A code of silence about criminal activities, and a refusal to give evidence to the authorities.

* * *

 _Tick. Tick. Click._

 _Tick. Tick. Click._

 _Tick. Tick Click._

I stare at the ceiling, surrounded by silence that is only punctuated by the clock above the door, and my thumb cocking the silver pistol in my hand. I'm waiting. It feels like I'm always waiting.

Before he died, my father Carlisle used to say that my patience is what made me so good at what I did. It was my patience that made him choose me to take his place after he was gone. I hadn't taken him seriously. I thought I had years and years before that happened.

But then, my father was shot. The first assassination in our family's long history.

 _Tick. Tick. Click._

 _Tick. Tick. Click._

I was in the car with him when it happened. It was a '58 Mercedes-Benz SL Roadster. A beautiful beast of a car. Flashy, only because she was vintage. Carlisle was driving. We hadn't needed security that day. We were headed to the soup kitchen at Saint Mary's to hand out our annual donations. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of food and clothing for battered women and their children.

One minute, dad was driving, one hand comfortably on the wheel, the other resting on the door with the wind blowing through his silvering hair. The next, his brains were splattered all over me and the white upholstery. We crashed at 60 miles per hour into a corner store. I'm told that paramedics found me trying to hold my dad's head together. All I remember is the sound of silence.

No good deed goes unpunished, right?

 _Tick. Tick. Click._

 _Tick. Tick. Click._

Everyone kept saying it was a miracle. I should've died with my dad that day. But I escaped with a broken ankle. A fucking broken ankle. What a joke. I spun the chamber of my pistol. There was only one bullet within. It gleamed and winked at me.

 _Tick. Tick. Click._

The door of my room opened quietly. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was or what they wanted.

"Edward? Are you ready?"

I turned to face my mother. Her long, dark hair was tied back into a severe bun for the occasion. She was dressed in black. I nodded and offered her a smile to try to erase that look of concern from her eyes. She only frowned and stepped closer to me. When she put her hand on my arm, I had to look away.

"Your father knew you were ready," she said in a quiet voice. "I believe in you. Your brothers believe in you."

I nodded before pulling away.

In the chapel of old Saint Mary's, every eye in the audience turned to face me as I entered with my mother. My father's casket, austere and elegant as he had been, was resting at the front of the church. The crowd that had gathered was enormous, and there were even more people outside, waiting to catch a glimpse of my father's casket when it exited.

They all wanted a chance to reach out and touch it, as they cried _Padre! Padre! Signor!_

But for all my father had meant to them, he meant more to me. The difference was that I wasn't allowed to show it. I met my brothers' gazes as I approached the front of the chapel. Jasper nodded at me. Emmett's gaze remained fixed and clear as ever.

I turned to face the people who had gathered to pay respects to the man who had sired me. I cleared my throat.

 _Tick. Tick. Click._

As if guided by some unseen force, my gaze was drawn to the back of the chapel. A pair of familiar brown eyes gazed back at me. I faltered. The audience mistook my pause for emotion, and they clapped to encourage me. But it was as though time itself had hovered and paused, as if everything around me had slowed down just to prolong this moment. My heart hesitated in my chest.

Then, Isabella looked away, and just as quickly as the spell was cast, it was broken. I recovered.

"A beautiful eulogy," my mother whispered in my ear as she hugged me. I thanked her. Emmett clapped me on the back. And that was the extent of emotion I was allowed.

I looked for Isabella as soon as the funeral service was over. I must have shook hundreds of hands, and been kissed by thousands of grand mothers. Then, finally, I spied her. The stained glass window she was standing underneath cast a rainbow of light around her, glittering off of her skin as though she were covered in thousands of tiny diamonds. Her back was to me, as she spoke animatedly with a tall, brooding man I didn't recognize. Her hair, chestnut woven silk, tumbled down her back, accentuating the slimness of her waist, and the appealing curve of her hips.

My chest tightened. My arms itched to wrap her in them. I started for her, but two hands wrapped around me like a vise.

"Edward! You must be so...so sad!"

I looked down at the blonde who had twined herself around me. Tanya Denali. Her parents Eleazar and Sasha, and her sister Irina approached us, effectively trapping me in.

"Donna Esme," Tanya's father said warmly, kissing my mother's cheek as though they were old friends. "I am sorry for your loss."

My mother nodded kindly. The Denali family was the butter to our bread. The friendship between our families reached back into antiquity. They washed our money, cleaned up our deals, and provided us with the political strength and cover that we needed to keep our businesses in order. It was no secret that Eleazar and Sasha hoped that I would marry Tanya.

I unraveled myself from the blonde only for her to latch onto my arm.

"How are you feeling?" she asked me, blinking up at me with large blue eyes.

"Fine," I answered curtly. I looked around. Our families were already engaged in conversation. There would be no escape. When I looked back to the stained glass window, Isabella was gone. "Tanya, I have to get ready for the reception," I tried. Her face brightened.

"Great! I'll come with you. I'm sure you can use my help," she answered with an affectionate squeeze. I had no choice. After all, some degree of her clinginess could certainly be blamed on me. I took her virginity a few years ago, and had found myself entwined among her sheets when I had been too stupid and too bored to appreciate the gravity of my actions. I had to take some responsibility. And I probably wouldn't have minded it, if it hadn't been for Isabella.

She was everything Tanya wasn't. Smart, sharp, witty. To say that I loved her would be an understatement. But of course, I'd never had her. Isabella's father had made damned good sure of that.

The drive to the reception hall was long, made even longer by Tanya's incessant chatter. I only wanted silence, but even that seemed like too much to ask.

My mother and brothers were already seated when I arrived. To my dismay, Eleazar, Sasha and Irina were also at our table. Of course, the only two seats left open were right next to each other. I met my mother's gaze, and I couldn't read her expression. She had always been oddly silent where the Denalis were concerned.

The reception was a send off fit for a king. Music, dancing, liquor and food flowed like unending rivers. But I couldn't handle it. Every second that passed was like a stab in my gut. I had to breathe. I needed fresh, cold air, and silence. I needed to be alone. I escaped as soon as I could, and found an empty third floor with a balcony that looked over the cliffs onto the city down below. The cold air on my face was exactly what I needed. Cold and silence. I closed my eyes and reached for the pistol with its single bullet that I always kept tucked in the waistband of my pants.

 _Tick. Tick. Click._

It felt good to be away from the crowd and the noise. I finally had a moment to think. To be consumed with thoughts of revenge. I didn't know who had assassinated my father, but I could think of a couple of people with a plethora of good reason. I spun the chamber of my pistol.

Whoever had orchestrated the hit had to have been someone we trusted. Someone who knew where we would be and when. Someone who knew that we would be unprotected. That narrowed the list down to my father's closest friends. How fucked.

"I know you like to be alone sometimes," a gentle voice said behind me. "I hope I'm not intruding."

I smiled despite myself and turned to face Isabella. Jesus Christ. This woman would be the death of me. She laughed when she saw my expression. It was a gentle, bell-like sound that seemed to lodge itself permanently in my brain and promise that as long as she could laugh, things would be okay.

"Don't look at me like that," she chided, as she approached me, hips swaying gently to the sound of her heels clicking against the floor.

"Look at you like what?" I asked, mesmerized by the way her eyes glittered with mirth. Her lips, thick and full, dared me to duck my head and capture them. I wanted her with my entire being. I had once tried to convince myself that I could get her out of my system by sleeping with her, just one time. But the damned woman had wormed her way past that lie and lodged herself firmly in my heart, without ever letting me lay as much as a finger on her.

"Like you could eat me," she answered with a devilish grin. I chuckled. I had never made my feelings for her a secret. How could I, when she had always been able to read me like an open book?

"It's been a long time," I said, turning back to admire the city lights below.

"Ten years," she answered quietly. We let the silence hang between us for a moment. She was right. Ten years had passed since she had left the city with no way of me to contact her. And yet, it was as if no time had passed at all. "I'm sorry for that, by the way," she said quietly. I met her gaze and raised an eyebrow in question.

"I'm sorry for leaving the way I did," she clarified. "I knew that if I told you, you would have convinced me to stay."

I gave a dry laugh and turned back to the city. She didn't have to apologize. She would always have my forgiveness. She reached out and gave my forearm a gentle squeeze. Something inside of me ached. There was so much to say and so few words I could use, and no time to say it all. So I didn't say anything.

"Edward?" she said after a long moment of quiet. I met her gaze with mine. "I'm back for good, this time. And..." she took a deep breath, and when she looked at me again, I could see steely resolve under the tremor of uncertainty. "And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I'm still in love with you."

* * *

 **A/N:** I've wanted to write a mob/mafia story for a long time, and I'm finally doing it because there's no time like the present. I'm still hammering out the little details, but I hope this story pleases you as much as it pleases me to write it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2** (Recognition)

* * *

I hadn't seen Isabella since she told me that she still loved me on the balcony two weeks ago. But since then, I had been working like a man possessed, because work was the only thing that could distract me from the siren named Isabella Marie Swan.

"You ready, little brother?" Emmett asked me with a devilish gleam in his eye. His dimples were out in full force as he handed me a black glock. He gave me a wink, and then pulled the black ski mask he wore down over his features. He leaned out of the side window of the black Rover we were riding in and let out a jubilant whoop.

"Sit down, asshole," Jasper cursed at Emmett from the front seat. He glanced back at me, blonde hair pulled up into a bun that was hidden beneath his ski cap. Jasper seemed to have an awareness that no one else quite did - he was a sensitive sort of soul underneath the violence and penchant for madness. He didn't need to use words to verbalize what his eyes were asking me. I nodded.

The truth was that I still wasn't quite recovered from the blow of losing my father. But neither were Jasper and Emmett. We were handling our sorrow the best way we knew how: mind numbing, blazing and bloody rage.

The Rover pulled to a smooth stop at the curb two blocks from a fancy jewelry boutique named The Velvet Box. There were hundreds of millions worth of score in gems and cash behind those glass windows. But that wasn't what we were here for.

Garrett, expert driver and technician, pulled out his laptop. With a few flicks of his fingers, he disabled the boutique's alarms and camera systems. He nodded at us.

"Two minutes," he told us.

Emmett slid out of the back seat first, cocking his gun. Jasper gave me one last look before pulling his mask over his face and following Emmett down the block. Garrett looked back at me.

"Make sure Jasper and Emmett get back home," I told Garrett, fixing him with a gaze that told him that I was serious. "Don't worry about me."

"Edward-" he began, but I slid out of the back door and slammed it shut before he could say another word. I pulled my mask over my face and jogged down the block, towards the glittering boutique.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Emmett announced our presence with a loud voice, after firing a shot into the ceiling. He was a calm, grinning face among the instant chaos and cries of fear. "We apologize for this interruption to your regularly scheduled capitalism. But we are here to rob you."

Jasper locked the doors behind us, and nodded at me. I hit the light switch, throwing the boutique into darkness. The petrified faces of the wealthy were illuminated by the glass cases housing clear cut diamonds and other precious stones. Jasper began slamming the cases with the butt of his gun, shattering the glass to scoop up the treasures within.

"So long as you cooperate with us, you will be back to your evening activities in no time." Emmett promised, as he patrolled the crowd to collect expensive watches, rings and earrings. "But if you don't, well..." Emmett grinned, and fired another shot into a glass case just behind the head of one of the salesmen. Screams punctuated the sound of shattering glass.

I hung back for a moment, scanning the small group huddled together in fear. An elderly man with an expensive haircut caught my eye. I went to him and pulled him to standing by his collar.

"Samuel White," I said quietly into his ear. "Do you remember me?"

The way his face immediately blanched in terror gave me all of the answer I needed. Holding him by his collar, I dragged him beyond a door marked 'Employees Only.' The manager's office was smaller than it looked on the blueprints, but just as promised, a large safe lay hidden behind the wall of the computer.

"Open it," I demanded, pushing him towards the object.

"E-Edward," he stammered. "I'm really sorry about what happened to your father, but you don't want to do this. You don't want the war that will come. J-Just let sleeping dogs lie. I've been authorized to-"

I hit him across the face with the butt of my gun. Blood bloomed like a summer rose at the corner of his lip and he staggered, but didn't lose his balance.

"Fuck you, old man," I cursed. "Open the fucking safe."

The Velvet Box masqueraded as an upscale jewelry store, but it didn't take me long to figure out that the chain was actually owned by a mysterious entity who's identity I couldn't decipher for all of my efforts. The closest I had gotten was discovering that Samuel White actually controlled the operations of the stores, despite pretending to be a shopper himself. Samuel White, as it turned out, was the father of one of my dad's five closest friends, James White.

I didn't know exactly what I would find in the safe, but all signs suggested that I would find some answers about Samuel White's boss in the safe of this particular Velvet Box location. Samuel's reaction to me simply confirmed it.

"Open the fucking safe!" I demanded, aiming my gun carefully at the senior's forehead. He raised his hands into the air and moved immediately to the combination. His old hands moved slowly. I glanced at my watch. I had exactly 37 seconds left before I had to make sure Jasper and Emmett got out of the store.

Samuel's hands trembled as the safe clicked open. I shoved him aside and cleared out the contents of the safe into my backpack. I glanced at the old man once more. His eyes were fixed on the corner of the safe, but when he noticed my gaze, he shifted his. Suspicious, I ran my fingers against the seam of the safe lining.

23 seconds.

My fingers caught a particularly worn spot. Grabbing hold of the short fibers, I gave a hard tug, and the lining peeled away to reveal a stack of manila envelopes. I took those, too.

11 seconds.

I gave the old man one last glance. A large bruise was forming where I had hit him with my gun.

"You might as well kill me," he said in a weak voice. He suddenly looked pathetic. Pale, and deflated, like a trampled flower. "I'm already dead."

4 seconds.

"Why did you betray my father?" I demanded.

2 seconds.

Samuel's eyes suddenly grew hard and cold. He paused as a cruel smile crossed his face

"Carlisle Masen was a real son of a bitch," he answered, eyes glinting in defiance. "I didn't betray him, but I'd kiss the fucker who did."

Those were the last words Samuel White ever spoke. The sound of my gun spraying Samuel's brains against the back wall rung in my ears as I burst out of the room.

Time was up.

Red and blue lights were flashing against the back of my eyes, my ears were ringing with the sound of sirens as I dove into the Rover behind Emmett. Jasper slammed the door and Garrett peeled away from the curb.

"Woo-hoo!" Emmett called into the night sky, as he peeled his ski mask away from his face to let out another excited whoop. Our bags were filled to brimming with cash and jewelry, but none of that meant anything to me. I was more intrigued with the envelopes in my bag.

We got rid of our guns in a quick trade by the river. Our ski masks and boots were given to the homeless. We swapped out our tires and license plates at a reliable chop shop the next town over, and we drove back into the city under the cover of night, and in separate cars. Quick, discreet, untraceable. Carlisle would've been proud.

I pulled up into the private garage beneath my apartment building. Jasper and Emmett had always thought me crazy for not wanting to live in an enormous house like they had chosen to. My penthouse suited me well. Fatigue beat at my eyes and shoulders as I stepped out of the elevator, and into my foyer. The lights were already on. My hand immediately went to my revolver.

Quietly, I hugged the wall, and peered into the kitchen. My eyes rested on a familiar form, and the air left my body in one great sigh of relief.

"Isabella? What are you doing here?" I asked, tucking my gun out of sight as she turned around. She gave me a warm smile, and I felt two weeks worth of fatigue hit me all at once. I hadn't realized how lacking my apartment was until she was here. She made it feel like home. I went to her, wanting to scoop her up and wrap her into my arms. But, I hesitated at the last minute. She looked up at me, and gave me an inviting smile, her lids half closed in what looked like pleasure. I could feel the warmth of her, even though we weren't touching. I was entranced. It was dangerous for her to have such an effect on me. But in that moment, I didn't care.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her again in a low voice. She swayed closer to me.

"Esme invited me out for lunch," she purred. "She said you would want to see me, so she let me in. She left about an hour ago, but made me promise to stay."

That sounded just like my mother. While Esme had always been unnervingly silent about Tanya, she'd always made not-so-subtle efforts to get me and Isabella to spend more time together.

"How have you been?" Isabella said quietly after a long moment of silence. She reached small, soft hands up to caress my face, and I closed my eyes at her touch.

"Tired," I murmured. "Exhausted, actually."

"You look it," Isabella said with a gentle giggle. I wanted to listen to her laugh forever. It was a slice of heaven here, to be so close to her, breathing in her soft honeyed scent of sweet vanilla and ripe strawberries, with her hands brushing gentle whispers against my skin. "I should go," she said. "You need to sleep." I opened my eyes.

"No," I said, reaching up to grasp her hand and hold it in mine. "Stay. You're always welcome to stay."

"Well, then I should make myself useful. Are you hungry?" she asked, already opening the fridge to pull out ingredients I didn't even know lay within. "Wow, your fridge is surprisingly well stocked," she marveled.

"I have a cook," I said sheepishly. "Alice. She's a visionary. You would like her."

Isabella hummed thoughtfully as she sifted through my cabinets, looking for the items she needed. She looked like she belonged here, in my kitchen. In my home. Her words from the last time I had seen her hit me again, and it was like a second wind. Isabella loved me. For a brief moment, I found respite in that. It was a welcome break from the pain and blinding rage I had succumbed to since watching my father be killed in front of me.

I crossed the kitchen in two long strides, and rested my hands against Isabella's hips, pulling her body flush against mine. I dropped my head to draw her ear against my teeth. She shivered and gave a giggle, tilting her head to grant me more access.

"Edward, stop," she said, even while she closed her eyes and relaxed into me. "I'm going to burn the eggs."

"You love me," I murmured. "Let the eggs burn."

She laughed out loud at that and swatted me away.

"Oh, is that what this is about?" she asked with a lovely grin. I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms to watch her work.

"Tell me more about it," I teased. "When did you realize that you _love_ me?"

Isabella rolled her eyes and laughed as the whipped pancake batter in a bowl.

"God, Edward, you must be dense. I've loved you since we were kids. That's why I couldn't tell you that I was leaving. All you would have to do is look at me with those green eyes of yours, and..." she glanced up sheepishly at me, biting her lip through her grin. She shook her head, and went back to her batter.

"And, what?" I pressed.

"You know, I had forgotten how much of an ego you have," she laughed as she poured the batter into a heated pan. The smell of pancakes and eggs made my stomach grumble. She swatted my hand away when I reached for a bit of egg. My phone rang from my bag, interrupting my response. I didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" I answered. I recognized the voice immediately.

"Edward Masen, you mother fucker. I will put a fucking bullet through your head like you did my dad."

It was my father's dear friend, James White.

* * *

 **A/N:** I am a huge fan of writing romance. I most enjoy writing lovey-dovey scenes between Edward and Isabella. But this story is a little different; it is as much about Edward's quest for revenge as it is about the love between Edward and Bella. Hopefully, you like it both ways. Until next time, my friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3** (Dignity)

* * *

I set three duffel bags full of cash and jewelry on the counter of the dingy little dry cleaner shop on the corner of 43rd street and Main.

"How much?" the asian woman behind the counter demanded. I shrugged.

"Somewhere around four million."

The woman sniffed and lifted each bag in her hand, closing her eyes and jiggling each one in turn.

"Four point two five million," she sniffed. "We take five percent."

"Three percent," I corrected her. "Eleazar and I go way back."

The woman rose an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Three percent for Eleazar. Two percent for me. This is called turn over. Five percent or take your bag somewhere else."

Tanya sauntered up the counter and grinned cutely at me.

"That's okay Sunny," she said to the asian woman. "Edward is a family friend. We will do three percent for him. As long as he agrees to take me to the mayor's ball, of course."

I gritted my teeth. A night of schmoozing with politicians was the furthest thing from appealing to me. If Emmett were here, he would tell me to man up.

"I'll get a tux," I answered. Tanya beamed. Sunny only glared at me before scooping the bags up off of the counter and disappearing.

"Where have you been, Edward?" Tanya asked, leaning against the counter so that her breast spilled forward like an offering. I kept my gaze locked on her eyes. She straightened and crossed her arms with a soft sigh of indignation.

"Here and there," I answered dismissively. I glanced pointedly at my watch. Tanya was a sensitive sort of creature, and while I usually had no time to coddle her, I had just given her 4.5 million to clean.

"Shame about the Velvet Box," she said, raising an eyebrow, as if daring me to deny what I had so obviously played a part in.

"The Velvet Box?" I asked, feigning ignorance. Tanya narrowed her eyes briefly. Her delicate nostrils flared in annoyance. But as quickly as the emotion crossed her features, it was gone, replaced with a placid expression and a flirty smile.

"Armed robbery three weeks ago," she said. She paused and gazed thoughtfully at me. "And murder. They'll have to close, of course. No one wants to shop where they don't feel safe. Such a shame, too. They had such beautiful engagement rings." I nodded demurely.

"Such a shame," I echoed.

"You know," Tanya sighed, twirling a golden lock between her long, delicate fingers. "My dad had the Chief of Police and his girlfriend over for dinner last night. You know them, don't you? Charlie Swan and Renee Dwyer?"

At the mention of Isabella's parents, I was suddenly more engaged in the conversation. Tanya noticed the change immediately, and the victorious smirk that pressed itself against her lips should have warned me off. But where Isabella was concerned, I had no sense of self-preservation.

"You had dinner with Charlie Swan?" I asked, trying to keep the interest out of my voice. By the expression on Tanya's face, it wasn't working.

"Quite regularly," Tanya answered. "You must know that he and my dad are close friends. He's not really a talkative man. But once you get some wine into him, and mention his daughter...well, that's all it takes to get him going."

"Tanya, stop fucking around," I growled. She leaned forward, renewed vigor shining brightly in her eyes. I knew I was in dangerous territory.

"I can be useful to you, Edward," she said in a quiet voice. "I have access to all sorts of people. They underestimate me, because they think I'm shallow and stupid. But I can use that against them to help you." Resolve wasn't something that I often saw in Tanya's expression. In fact, I had believed her quite incapable of it. But here she was, promising me her body and her access and everything else. For the briefest of moments, I understood what it felt like to be her. It was clear as day, where it hadn't been before, and I cursed myself for it. Tanya loved me. Wholly and truly, and she only wanted me to love her in return.

But I couldn't.

I wish I could say that I were the type of man to let her down gently. But I'm not. I never was. I leaned across the counter, and trailed my finger down the side of her jaw, tucking it underneath her chin to lift her gaze to me. I heard her breath hitch. I could feel the pounding of her heart, the heat that radiated off of her. Her blue gaze fluttered shut, forming two crescent moons against the milk pale curve of her cheek. Her next breath left her lips in a shudder. I kissed her.

Our lips molded together in a heated press. I drew her lip in against my teeth and nibbled gently. She sighed. I pulled away just as she reached for me. She faltered, and her eyes flicked open. In that moment, I only felt one thing: power. There was nothing quite like the exhilaration of knowing that you have control over some one else.

"I'll pick you up at nine," I told Tanya. I turned on my heel and left the dingy little dry cleaner before she could recover.

My phone vibrated just as my driver closed the back door behind me and pulled away from the curb. It was Emmett.

"Heard about James," he boomed into my ear. "He found out that you shot his dad through the eye? Bad form, little bro. Bad form."

"It's nothing to worry about," I assured him. "I'll handle it."

"You know he's never liked you," Emmett pressed. "And now with pops gone -"

"I said I'll handle it," I interrupted. "So did you just call to jerk me off, or do you actually need something?"

"Remember how you said that we needed to keep an eye out for a company called Volturi?" he asked. His voice suddenly sounded muffled, and there was a loud commotion in the background.

"What about it?" I asked, my interest was piqued. The envelopes I had taken from The Velvet Box were filled with an assortment of information that all seemed useless and unrelated. I'd spent a week locked away from the world, poring over each letter in agonizing detail, trying to find some connection amongst the noise. The only thing I had managed to decipher was the name Volturi. It appeared frequently, among shipping information, creditors and property leases. Despite my best efforts, and the efforts of Garrett, Volturi seemed to be as much of a shadow as the mysterious man behind all of this.

"Jasper heard that there's a truck that's supposed to drive through town tonight, carrying thirteen tons of cargo at its last checkpoint in California. He says that the truck's registration is under Volturi. Thought you might want to check it out."

A rapid succession of three gunshots rang out in Emmett's background.

"What the fuck? Where are you?" I demanded of my older brother. There was a slight scuffle and a grunt over the line.

"Don't worry about it," Emmett said, sounding very slightly out of breath. "So are we checking this thing out tonight or what?"

"What does the timing look like?" I asked. Some men were shouting in what sounded like Romanian, and Emmett cursed over the line.

"I'll have to call you back," he answered. "But Jasper says to be ready to go at midnight."

Then, the call disconnected. I could only stare in disbelief at the phone in my hand. I shook my head and put it away as my driver pulled up to the front of my apartment. I can only attribute what happened next to being careless. My dad always told me to be cautious about everything, especially about the things that we do every day. "Habit," he used to say, "Is your enemy's greatest weapon against you."

I turned the lock with my key, and pushed the door open to be greeted by the scent of something sickly sweet and a soft _click_.

"Fuck."

I turned, and ran, throwing myself over the stair balcony. I felt a sickening _pop_ and heard a _crunch_ before everything was drowned out by the roar and heat of an explosion.

"Fuck!" I roared again, rolling onto my feet and clutching my aching shoulder. I limped as fast as I could down the stairs, yanking the fire alarm as I went. The explosion had rocked the building, the alarm was only a formality. The sweet smell was spreading quickly, making my head spin and my stomach clench. I felt the telltale flow of saliva in my mouth, and forced myself to hold down my vomit.

Tenants were pouring out of their apartments now, eyes wide and frantic in panic. I spied an elderly woman struggling to get to the stair. The fire above was spreading quickly, I was already sweating from the heat and the smoke singed my lungs. I grabbed the old lady's arm and pulled it over my shoulder, supporting her with my good arm.

"Thank you," she said weakly, before she succumbed to a coughing fit. The sweet stench threatened to make me pass out. My vision swam. White hot pain stabbed up my leg every time I took a step. I couldn't feel my left hand, and the old lady was heavy against me, and growing limp.

I collapsed as soon as I handed the woman off to a firefighter. Fresh air had never felt so good. I took big, gulping breaths, ignoring the paramedics who approached me. I was bombarded with questions. Sirens were wailing, growing nearer every second. I felt rather than saw myself being lifted onto a gurney and shoved into the back of an ambulance. A mask was pulled taut against my face. My vision swam and darkened. I leaned over and ripped the mask off just in time to vomit. Bile burned the back of my throat.

Just before the doors of the ambulance closed, I caught a glimpse of a tall, lean man, impeccably dressed in a well fitting suit. His eyes were hard and grey, his dark hair was slicked back neatly. An unlit cigarette hung from his mouth as he leaned against a dark car. It was almost as though the chaos didn't touch him. When he caught my eye, he winked, dropped the cigarette and got into the car.

The ambulance doors slammed shut.

* * *

 **A/N:** Crime and romance are a strange marriage, but one that I find works incredibly well together. Every mob boss needs his princess, right? Isabella didn't make an appearance in this chapter, but never fear! She'll be back soon. Until next time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4** (Recovery)

* * *

"Edward?"

Silk. Heat. Strawberries. Honey.

Isabella.

I pried my eyes open. I was in a hospital bed. Somewhere behind me, a machine beeped softly at regular intervals. The curtain was drawn between my bed and the door. I blinked.

Large, concerned, brown eyes blinked back at me. I offered her a lazy smile, and Isabella let out a sigh of relief as she threw herself against me, burying her face in my neck. Her hand stroked the side of my neck in a gentle caress that was innocent enough, but set me on fire in places that I was sure would make her blush. My left arm felt heavy against my side, so I wrapped my good arm around her to hold her petite frame even closer to mine.

"I came as soon as I heard," she said in a small voice. "I...I assumed the worst, Edward. I was terrified." I rubbed her back reassuringly.

"It's going to take more than a little explosion to get rid of me," I chuckled. Isabella looked up at me with grave eyes. "Aw, come on, Bella," I chided her. "I'm alright, aren't I? Unless there's something you're not telling me..." Again, my joke fell flat. Tough crowd.

"I don't want to be _that_ girl, Edward," she said slowly. "But, this isn't how I imagined us." I rose an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

Isabella bit her lip, and took a sigh, as though bracing herself.

"I mean, I don't know, Edward," she glanced down to fiddle with the collar of the hospital shirt. "It took years, but I finally got the courage to tell you how I feel about you. And I don't regret that, because it's the truth. But...well, it's just...nothing has changed. I only get to see you every few weeks, and in between it's like you've disappeared from the face of the earth, I mean, you...you haven't even said it back, which, don't get me wrong, it's totally fine, and I still feel the way I do despite -"

Ignoring the heaviness in my left arm, I lifted her chin and pressed my lips to hers, effectively cutting off her stream of consciousness. She gave a little sigh and shiver, and melted into me, and that was all it took to arouse me and set my skin on fire. Isabella shifted against me, and then pulled away with a soft 'oh' and a gentle blush. I gave her a devilish grin.

"Did...did I do that?" she asked in a breathy voice, glancing at the tent in my pants. I chuckled.

"Always," I answered as I closed my eyes and willed myself to calm down. I felt the gentle press of her fingers on my face. I met her gaze.

"Can I help?" she asked in a quiet voice. I rose an eyebrow. She looked at me from underneath her eyelashes, and I knew in that moment that I was a lost man. Whatever she asked of me, she would have. I would give her my very soul if she demanded it. I drew her fingers to my lips.

"You don't need to do that," I said, kissing her palm. It was Isabella's turn to cast me a devilish grin.

"I want to," she whispered, straddling me. I was powerless beneath her, simultaneously lost and captured in the enigma that she was. She pressed a hot open mouthed kiss to my lips, and just as I went to hold her to me, she pulled away, and planted a gentler kiss on my neck. Her hands had found their way to the edge of my shirt, and she rolled it up to find access to my chest. Kiss by kiss, gentle touch by gentle touch, she poked and prodded at the fire that was building at the pit of my belly.

Something slammed through me, low and wicked, when she tugged at my pants and my cock sprung free. She grinned at me, and planted an innocent kiss at the tip. Her tongue peeked out to taste, and the feeling made me want to shiver. I bit my lip instead and tried to control my breathing.

"Do you want me, Edward?" she asked quietly, as she grasped hold of me and began to stroke me in her soft hand, slow and long.

"More than anything," I bit out. "Fuck."

I wasn't ready for the feeling of her tongue against me. The beeping that monitored my heart rate increased dramatically. I cursed, and grabbed hold of her arms to pull her up. With my other hand, I fixed my pants. Isabella pouted.

"I can't let you do that," I explained, trying to force my heart to beat normally again. "God forgive me."

"I want to," Isabella insisted, looking thoroughly annoyed to have her plans derailed. I could only grin at the expression on her face.

"And that's enough for me," I answered, tugging her down to rest against me. She frowned, but then peppered my face with kisses. My heart swelled in my chest. This woman would be the death of me. When she was sure that I had been thoroughly kissed, she curled into my side, tracing patterns into my chest.

I closed my eyes and relished the moment.

Like this, with Isabella pressed close to me, surrounded by still and calm, I could consider, for a moment, the thought of getting out of the family business. Opening up a legitimate business. Selling pianos, maybe. Or import/export. Something real. Something secure. Something that would allow me to promise Isabella the world and everything in it so long as she stayed with me.

Then, the door flew open, and my brothers paraded in, armed with food and followed by my mother. Isabella made to climb off of the bed as I sat up, but I held her to me. She gave my family a rueful smile.

"The sick bed treatment, huh?" Emmett boomed, with a wink. Isabella immediately flushed, and I threw him a middle finger.

"How are you feeling Edward?" Jasper asked.

"You need to eat," my mother added, moving over to the tray to arrange the food they had brought. "That's the only way to keep your strength."

"He seems to have regained his strength already," Emmett chimed in, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I made another rude gesture and my mom smacked my shoulder.

"Ow," I winced. "I'm already in a hospital bed."

My mother only shot me a glare. Jasper had pulled a chair up beside my bed, and pulled out a laptop. Emmett perched on the edge of the bed. My mom knew when we were about to talk shop, so she asked Isabella to go with her to get coffees. I wanted to hold Isabella close to me, and Isabella looked at me as though she hoped that I would. But she went.

As soon as the door closed behind my mother and the love of my life, Jasper fixed me with clear, all-seeing eyes.

"How are you feeling?" he asked in a strange voice. I glanced between him and Emmett, and was surprised to see how serious they were being.

"Are you kidding?" I asked. "How do you think? Someone blew up my place. Probably the same person who had dad shot."

Jasper and Emmett exchanged glances.

"I meant your injuries. Doc said you sprained your ankle and dislocated your shoulder. He says you should stay off your feet for a few weeks."

I gave a snort. But Jasper and Emmett looked serious as ever.

"You gotta lay low, bro," Emmett said in a quiet voice.

"The Volturi truck is coming through tonight," I answered firmly. "Whatever that thing's carrying might be related to what happened to me. I'm not gonna just stay in some hospital bed and let this chance drive by."

"Emmett and me are gonna hit the truck," Jasper answered. "And you're not staying in this hospital. Not with a target on your back. But you're not coming out with us for a while."

"What is this?" I demanded, looking between my brothers and trying to keep my fury under control. "You think this is peewee baseball? Are you guys trying to fucking bench me?"

"Dude, you're injured, and you could cost us-" Emmett tried.

"Fuck injured. We're closer to catching the son of a bitch who _blew our father's brains out_. Do you guys get what that means? And you want me to sit around and scratch my ass while he's out there? Fuck that. And fuck you guys."

Jasper gave a sigh.

"We knew you would be like this, Edward," he said in a quiet voice, before closing his laptop. "All I can say is I'm sorry for what happens next." Jasper and Emmett stood up and exchanged another glance. I didn't like this one bit.

"Don't forget who I am," I told them in a low, dangerous voice. A moment of silence hovered between the three of us before Jasper went to the door, Emmett trailing him, leaving me alone with the sound of the machine behind my head beeping.

I was more than furious, but I put that feeling aside and waited. I didn't know what I was waiting for, but I would be ready for it when it came. The door to my room opened again, and I expected to see Isabella and my mother.

"Hello, Edward."

It was the tall, lean man with the slicked back hair who had been present when the paramedics were taking me in. He strolled languidly into the room, as though he had called me to meet him here. He spoke in a deep, gravelly tone, marked with a strong accent that I couldn't place. Something about him made the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. I felt weak. It was an odd, unfamiliar feeling that I never wanted to feel again. I met the man's grey gaze with my own.

"It's so lovely to meet you again, though I'm sorry it had to be under such...unfortunate circumstances."

"What do you want?" I demanded. I didn't recognize the stranger, but he seemed to know me, and that unnerved me. The man gave me a slow smile, one that suggested that he was hiding something sinister beneath it.

"What a strange question," he said slowly, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and twirling one between his long fingers. He pondered it a moment. "Most people start off by asking who I am. Or who sent me. Something along those lines. But you," he cut his gaze back to me. "You ask what I want. Most peculiar."

I didn't answer him, but I held his gaze until he smiled again.

"I want to help you, Edward," he said as he placed the cigarette between his lips. It bobbed gently as he spoke. "But you must help me in return. Your father was a great man. He died a hero. Stop looking into his death."

I only rose an eyebrow. The man grinned.

"I see you are a man of few words. I can respect that."

He walked over to my side of the room, and placed an innocuous hand over my injured ankle.

"I wouldn't like to see you hurt again, Edward."

"I don't respond well to threats," I answered quietly. The man nodded, that unnerving smile creeping up around his mouth again. He took his hand off of my ankle.

"The police are on their way here," he said suddenly, leaning forward with renewed urgency. "Say nothing to no one."

Then he stood and disappeared. Seconds later, the door flew open, and three men entered the room, Charlie Swan was one of them. His eyes glinted in what looked like victory.

"Edward Cullen, you son of a bitch," he said loudly. One of the officers slapped a cuff around my wrist, shackling me to my bed. "You're under arrest."

* * *

 **A/N:** I appreciate all of your concern about Edward kissing Tanya Definitely not one of his shining moments, and I struggled a lot about whether to write that or not. But, it's important because it shows a part of who Mobward is. He sees weaknesses and exploits them, he doesn't see it as infidelity, he sees it as using another tool in his belt. Hopefully you guys will keep sticking with me on this journey.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 6** (Discovery)

* * *

"We have cell phone footage of you holding up The Velvet Box, Edward," Charlie said, slamming a video still down in front of me. I looked up at him with a soft smile. I could tell the man was enraged, but he was trying to keep a calm demeanor. There was a faint line of sweat dotting his brow. He had taken his suit jacket off, and rolled up his sleeves. His still formidable figure had begun to soften in his old age. But his eyes were as sharp and cutting as ever.

A clock ticked in the corner, telling me that we had been locked in this interrogation room for three hours. Charlie had taken several passes at me. First, approaching me as a friend. Then, cajoling me with threats towards my family. Now, presenting his "evidence."

I glanced at the picture. It was a grainy image of the back of someone's head. That person was holding a gun. Could that person have been me? Perhaps. But it could have also been any other six-foot-three white male in this city. I shrugged.

"I don't know, Charles, that doesn't look like me," I answered. The calm in my voice irritated Charlie even further. I could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears. I hadn't asked for a lawyer yet. I figured that this was a blessing in disguise. I could find out what the police knew.

I glanced at the clock again. It was nearing midnight. I'd been cleared to leave the hospital a mere half hour after the police arrived, so I had been stuck in the station ever since. Horrific, right?

I itched with annoyance at the realization that I wouldn't be able to track down the Volturi truck. Hopefully my brothers would be on it.

"Come on, Edward," Charlie said with a sigh, sitting down across from me. "You know I'm no one's fool. I know what you do. Just give me something. Anything. If you didn't do this, then you surely know who did." I grinned at the older man. A wiser man would have kissed up to get his someday father-in-law to like him a little more.

My father had always called me patient. He never called me wise.

"Sorry, Charles," I answered, using the nickname that I knew Charlie hated. "I don't know what you think I do, but I'm just a simple investor. I'd be more help if you asked me to help you find a good broker."

Charlie glared at me.

"It's Chief Swan," he growled. I knew I had him. "Edward, look," Charlie tried again. "These men that did this. They're not just thieves. They're murders. You know Samuel White?" Charlie took another picture out of the folder and placed it before me. It was the postmortem image of good old traitorous Samuel White. They'd done a pretty good job of reconstructing his face around where I'd put a bullet in it. I kept my expression blank.

"Whoever robbed the Velvet Box also did this," Charlie continued. "Now, my men think you're good for it. And they've got a good case. But you grew up in my house. You wouldn't do something like this to some poor old man. You've got morals. I know you're not a murderer. So help me bring one to justice."

I looked at the picture for a long time. My dad hadn't been able to have a picture taken. That's what happens when someone blows your head apart. I'd been too easy on Samuel White. I met Charlie's gaze.

"You know, _Chief_ , I'd like my phone call now."

Charlie stared at me for what seemed like ages. The clock in the corner ticked quietly, marking the passing seconds. Then, with a loud _screech_ , Charlie pushed the chair away from the table, and left the room, letting the door close behind him with a slam. A uniformed officer came in a few moments later with a portable phone.

"One call," he said with a glare. I almost chuckled. The kid looked fresh out of academy. He probably got a huge ego boost out of being able to grant me, the big bad criminal, a favor.

I looked at the phone. So many people I could call, all of whom would bend over backwards to get me out of this room within the hour. I started dialing.

"Hello?"

Just the sound of her voice alone was enough to make my insides turn into mush. She sounded like she had been sleeping. I would've been tempted to give Charlie everything he asked for if he had promised me his daughter. Little did he know.

"Isabella," I breathed into the phone.

"Edward?" She was suddenly alert. "Edward, where are you? The hospital wouldn't give me any information, and your mom couldn't reach your brothers, I've been so worried, I-"

"You know why I couldn't let you help me out?" I interrupted her gently. "In the hospital. You know what I'm talking about?" She hesitated.

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about," she answered quietly. I could almost hear her blushing. I grinned.

"Because you're so much more than a quickie in a hospital bed," I answered her. "Our first time together...It's going to be special, Isabella. I'm going to make sure it's something special."

She giggled, and my heart soared in my chest.

"I love you, Edward," she said quietly. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to-"

"I'm at the police station," I cut her off again. "They're interrogating me for the Velvet Box, but they haven't charged me with anything yet. Call my lawyer."

Then, I hung up.

Rosalie Hale was a powerhouse of a woman. Leggy and blonde with piercing blue eyes and a sharp intelligence to match, she was the nightmare of law enforcement everywhere. The cameras loved her because of her looks, and her viper tongue was quick enough to spin a story so fast that even the DA would get cloudy on the details. She had her own show on daytime television, where she regularly tore law enforcement and the District Attorney's office to shreds with those razor sharp, bright red claws of hers. She was a shark. And when she walked into the precinct, she smelled blood.

"Charlie Swan," she said, as she clacked into the office on stilettos that could kill a man in two ways. "I see you're back to your regular shenanigans, trampling on the constitutional rights of my clients."

Most men cowered when Rosalie looked their way. Charlie did not.

"He's in the interrogation room," he grunted, nodding towards the door.

"Uncuffed, I presume?" Rosalie demanded with a raise of her perfectly manicured eyebrow. Charlie gave a uniformed officer a pointed glance, and the man rushed into the interrogation room to uncuff me.

"I'm surprised you're defending scum like him," Charlie stated as he leaned against a desk and crossed his arms. "How'd you even know he was here? You're not his usual lawyer."

Rosalie gave Charlie a smile. It was the sort of smile you'd expect to see on the face of a cat when it had caught a mouse between its claws.

"I'm here as a favor to a friend. Here she comes now," Rosalie answered, nodding to someone who had entered the precinct. Charlie turned around.

"Isabella?" Charlie bellowed, bewilderment, fury and disappointment making him lose his cool. Isabella gave a weak wave.

"Hi dad," she said sheepishly. Charlie looked between Rosalie and Isabella, disbelief marking his features.

"Isabella, what...how...I don't understand. When did you come back? I thought you were studying art history in Seattle. I sent you there specifically to keep you out of this, to keep you away from _him_. And you come back to defend him? Don't you know who he is? What he's done?"

Charlie was struggling to keep his voice under control, and it showed. His detectives were trying to appear disinterested, but Charlie losing his cool was a rare sight. One might even say that it never happened. Rosalie watched the scene unfold with her arms crossed over her chest.

"My client hasn't _done_ anything," she interjected, for the record. Charlie cast her a withering glance. Rosalie rose an eyebrow in challenge.

"Dad, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Isabella said in a soft voice, stepping further into the police station. This was the last place Charlie ever wanted to see her. He had done so much to protect her, to keep her from burning herself on the inferno that Edward was, but here she was, plunging her hand deep into where the fire burned hottest.

"Can we...can we talk about this later?" Isabella asked quietly. Charlie was suddenly acutely aware of all the eyes on him and his daughter. He gritted his jaw and turned his back to his daughter.

"Your _client_ is all set to go," he said in a low voice to Rosalie.

"Dad..." Isabella started. Charlie whirled to face her.

"Your mom and I are having dinner tonight," he said in a quiet voice. "You would do well to join us." Then he turned on his heel and disappeared into his office, slamming the door so hard the frame shook. Rosalie took a deep breath and clapped her hands together.

"Well, back to the matter at hand," she announced, stalking towards the interrogation room.

I looked up when she entered. My eyes caressed her figure appreciatively. But for how beautiful this stranger was, she paled in comparison to Isabella. I put my hand out, and Isabella came to me immediately. Something inside of me melted. I kissed her forehead, and it felt as though everything had been put right.

"Who are you?" I asked the gorgeous blonde. "Where's my lawyer?"

"Rosalie Hale," the blonde answered. She met my questioning expression with a stoic gaze. This woman refused to show her hand.

I glanced at Isabella.

"I didn't know who your lawyer was," she explained quietly. "So I called Rose. She's a friend from college. She's really good, Edward."

"But can I trust her?" I asked, inspecting Rosalie with new suspicion. The woman crossed her arms in challenge.

"More than you can trust your brother," she answered. "It didn't take much to find out that a certain Jasper Masen tipped off the department."

"And why would he do that?" I asked, voice dripping with derision. I could tell by the icy expression on Rosalie's face that she didn't appreciate my tone. I didn't appreciate her insinuation.

"You'd know better than I," Rosalie answered. The calm in her voice belied the flash of annoyance in her eyes. "But I'd suggest you begin to reevaluate who you trust. Let me know if I make the cut."

With that, Rosalie nodded at Isabella and then turned on her heel and walked out of the room. Her confidence in her accusation of my brother made me hesitate. On one hand, I didn't want to believe that my brothers would let me be arrested. On the other, the timing of my arrest had been a little _too_ convenient. There had been no bodyguards at my door, nothing to stop the mysterious man from barging in. And the fact that Charlie had appeared mere moments after my brothers had tried to keep me from investigating the Volturi truck with them?

Perhaps the blonde had a point.

I looked down at Isabella again. I tunneled my fingers into her thick hair, and tilted her head back to grant me access.

"You trust her?" I asked her in a low voice. She hummed softly and leaned against me.

"With my life," she answered. I studied her expression. Her large, honest brown eyes. I would follow this woman to the gates of hell if thats where she led me.

I kissed her.

* * *

 **A/N:** Heeeere's Rosalie! The relationships between characters may seem a little unclear right now, but hopefully it gets clearer as the story goes on. Feel free to drop a question or speculation if you have one.

Seems like everyone is convinced that Edward is a cheater. Let me be clear: he's not.

Also, we're officially chapter-tied with Terms of Agreement. If you guys are still interested, I'll start updating TOA again, which means I'll alternate between posting a chapter for HOTM and TOA. Let me know which you guys would prefer.

Until next time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6** (Return)

* * *

My dad used to love playing chess. He'd wake up early on Saturday mornings and head down to the park to sit at the chess benches and spend hours playing with anyone brave enough to challenge him. Black, white, rich, poor, young, old. It didn't matter. If you knew how to play chess, my dad would play with you. He won more often than not, but when he loss, he would reward the victor with a couple of crisp hundreds.

"Every defeat is a learning opportunity," he'd say with a wink. But no one ever beat Carlisle twice. He tried to teach me the game, but I'd never had a handle on it the way he did. Jasper came closest to mastering the game, and Emmett had been more interested in shooting the pieces than playing them. My competitive nature would draw me to my dad's side when I was younger, looking for practice and tips so I could eventually beat Jasper.

"You have to play the pieces, Edward," he'd tell me. "This isn't a game of cards, you don't have to play what you're dealt. Look at the board. Look at the pieces. It all comes together when you can see the bigger picture, and when you understand what each piece can do. Play the pieces."

I weighed the heavy antique chess piece in my hand. It was made of ivory, back in the days before elephant hunting was illegal. This set was the most expensive on in the world. It had sat untouched in my dad's house. He had been in the middle of the game. I set the pawn down and picked up the Queen. The most powerful piece in the game. But she was nothing if her King was captured.

If my dad was the King, what did that make me?

I set the pieces back down on the board, exactly as they had been. Something in me still ached when I thought about my father. I couldn't put the pieces away. That would be too final. As if admitting that Carlisle would never be back to finish the game. I set my jaw and went over to my father's desk.

It was a monster of a thing, hand carved and still gleaming. No frills, intimidating, and austere, just as Carlisle had been. I sat in his chair, and for the briefest of moments, it was as though he were back. I shook off the feeling, and opened his top drawer.

There were only a few things within, some folders with papers and titles. A book that was only a list of names and dates, which meant nothing to me. The next drawers were the same. A scattering of things that were useless without the man who had collected them all. I stared at the grandfather clock in the corner.

Again, it felt like I was waiting. But for what?

My patience was beginning to wear. I was stuck in a limbo that seemed to overwhelm me. I powered up my father's sleek computer, and after inputting the password, I navigated to a search page. Jasper and Emmett hadn't returned my calls. I had multiple threads, but no true leads. A nagging voice at the back of my head told me that I was overlooking something important, though I couldn't quite place my thumb on it. The cursor blinked at me.

SEARCH: VOLTURI

I hit 'go' and didn't have to wait long for the results. Nothing of substance. There was no significant name attached to the company. I dragged my hand through my hair.

SEARCH: SAMUEL WHITE, VOLTURI

This time, the results were flooded with pictures and articles on Samuel's achievement. No mention of his death. Yet. That surprised me. And made me nervous. If the press hadn't caught wind of such a high profile robbery and murder, it could only mean one thing: someone was trying to keep the affair quiet. But who? And why? Moreover, how had James known that I shot his father if the police hadn't broken the news to the press yet?

SEARCH: SAMUEL WHITE, THE VELVET BOX

A page came up, listing Samuel White as one of the Operational Managers of the company, followed by a short bio. A few clicks later, I came to the parent company's web page. There, listed as the Chief Communications Officer, was a picture of the man who had been at the scene of my apartment's explosion and who had visited me at the hospital. Alec Bright.

Ironic name for a man who seemed to be the exact opposite of bright.

My phone buzzed on the table. I let it ring to voice mail.

SEARCH: ALEC BRIGHT

A few articles came up about the man, but one in particular caught my eye. I clicked the link. The article was date from about ten years ago.

 **CAR CRASH KILLS ONE, INJURES THREE. INVESTIGATORS SUSPECT FOUL PLAY.**

I remembered the event well. It was around Christmas time, my brothers and I had all come to stay with our parents, as was our tradition during that time of the year. We'd waited for my father until past midnight. Around two in the morning, our mother had received a phone call, asking her to come to the hospital. Our dad had been in a car accident. His driver rear ended another car, resulting in that car T-boning a third car. The passenger of the third car had been killed on impact. My dad had been investigated for weeks, but the final report blamed the injuries and death on faulty breaks.

I skimmed the article. Alec Bright had been driving the third car. He'd been one of the injured, along with two people in the second car. Alec Bright's passenger, the one who had died, had been a young man named Marcus Van Der Clarke, son of billionaire philanthropist Aro Van Der Clarke and his wife Sulpicia. Marcus had been their only child.

That nagging feeling in the back of my head started up again. The timing was a little too convenient, a little too easy. Something was not right. I sent the article to myself and powered down the computer.

Tanya had left me a voicemail to remind me about the mayor's ball, and to ask why I hadn't called her when I was in the hospital. I deleted it, and shot her a quick text that I would meet her at the ball. I tried Jasper and Emmett, but my call went straight to voicemail both times.

My ankle still hurt like a bitch whenever I put weight on it, but I powered through and made my way to Jasper's house. Being that my place, and all of my belongings, had been blown into the sky, I'd have to borrow a few of Jasper's things. He owed me.

Truth be told, I wasn't looking forward to the Mayor's ball in the slightest, but if anyone knew anything about Aro Van Der Clarke, they would be at the ball tonight. I could schmooze with the best of them, so why not put that talent to good use? I thought, for a moment, about calling Isabella, but I hadn't heard from her or Rosalie in a few days, so I figured I'd leave her alone. I was sure she had plenty to deal with as far as Charlie was concerned.

A small part of me felt bad about dragging Isabella in between her father and me. But anyone who knew me, knew that I played dirty. My father always reasoned that it's always best to strike fast and hard, even with the smallest of infractions. That way, he believed, you could minimize any mess.

I raided Jasper's fridge, and then took a luxurious shower and felt like a whole new man after slipping into on of Jasper's tuxedos. It fit, but in a way that suggested that it had obviously been tailored for someone else. I slicked my hair back, à la Alec Bright, and slid into the back seat of my driver's car. The ball was already in full swing when I arrived, trying my best not to hobble up the steps.

I grinned for some pictures, shook some hands, and then entered the ballroom. The Mayor's ball was the event of the year; the ultimate gathering of who's-who. I never cared for it, but my father was a regular attendee. He was a charming man, the sort of man that could sell ice to an eskimo and rob you blind before you'd realized it. My father's strength didn't come from being the godfather in the scary movie sort of way. It came from being charismatic, charming, and always fourteen steps ahead of you. That's how he carried out his businesses so successfully. Even his enemies weren't quite sure that they were enemies.

I went to the bar, and I'd barely taken a sip of my scotch when Tanya found me. She was dressed in a pale pink number that accentuated her tiny waist and her full bosom. Her blonde hair was slicked back to show off the diamonds dangling from her ears. It was gaudy, she was trying too hard. I gave her a smile anyway. She smiled back and kissed both of my cheeks.

"How are you feeling? I've been so in the dark about you," she whined. "I had to hear about your apartment blowing up from the news! Why didn't you call me?"

"Easy," I said to her, taking a large sip from my cup and setting the glass down before putting a comforting hand on her arm. She relaxed imperceptibly and smiled up at me. Before Isabella, Tanya had held a certain appeal to me. A shiny new toy that had all of the bells and whistles, but no actual substance. A distraction that I had been more than happy to be distracted by. Now, the gleam had faded and I saw her for what she truly was. Plastic and inanimate. It made something in me turn over in displeasure. I tamped that feeling down because I knew that I had work to do. My father had taught me well.

"There she is," I grinned at her when she calmed down. She leaned into me.

"Charlie Swan is here tonight," she said in a quiet voice. I nodded.

"No need to worry about him," I answered. "Who else?"

Tanya scanned the room thoughtfully.

"Well, you'll have to say hi to my dad. And there are a few investors here too. Daniel Harding is over there, he's running for senator. Speaking of politicians, though -"

"What about Aro Van Der Clarke?"

Tanya's eyes cut to mine, suspicion clear in her gaze.

"He's not here yet," she said slowly. "Why are you looking for him?"

I picked up my glass and took another swig of scotch, letting the heady tones coat my tongue. I gave a casual shrug. Tanya studied me for a moment longer. Then, she plucked the glass from my fingers, set it down on the bar counter, and wrapped her arm around mine.

"Come, let's go say hi to daddy," she said.

Eleazar had already had quite a bit to drink, as was obvious by how many times he hugged and kissed me. Sasha, as the dutiful wife, tried to distract from her husband's behavior by changing the conversation.

"Edward, so good to see you. Your brothers said that you wouldn't make it."

"My brothers are here?" I asked. Sasha looked surprised.

"Well, yes," she said as she scanned the crowd. "Look, Jasper's just off there talking to Irina. I saw Emmett a few moments ago..."

I thanked her, and told Tanya that I needed to speak to my brother in private. She pouted, but told me that she would find me in an hour. I made for Jasper, casually slipping through the crowd, stopping only momentarily to shake hands and kiss cheeks and make small pleasantries. I was nice enough, but I wasn't my father, and I didn't see a point in trying to be.

Irina had disappeared when I reached my brother. For his part, Jasper had the audacity to look surprised when he looked up and saw me.

"Look who's out of jail," he grinned, his eyes twinkling with mirth. I wanted to be angry with him. I punched him in the shoulder, but there was no hostility behind it.

"I want to know everything about the Volturi truck," I said. "And why you and Emmett have been icing my calls." Jasper gave me a mysterious smile.

"Later," he said. He nodded at something over my shoulder. "Look."

I turned, and caught glimpse of Isabella. My heart paused in my chest. She was wearing a midnight blue floor length gown that clung to her in a way that was both seductive and classic. The dress plunged dangerously low, and a delicate diamond piece glittered and dripped from her neck down to her sternum. Her hair was pulled back, but tumbled down her back in thick, shiny curls. She was a vision. And she was talking to that same man from the church. Her movements were rapid and staccato. They were arguing.

"Who is that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. Jasper grinned at me.

"Why don't you go and find out?" he challenged. I glanced at him. He looked a little too...happy.

"What are you up to?" I demanded. "What are you so happy about?"

Jasper shrugged and raised his glass with a laugh. I ignored him and went to Isabella. I slid my arm around her waist and drew her towards me. She relaxed against me almost immediately.

"Hi. Edward Masen," I introduced myself to the dark haired stranger, offering my hand. He glanced between Isabella and me, then took my hand and shook it. He had a surprisingly firm grip.

"Jacob Black," he answered.

"Are you from around here?" I pressed, challenging him with my gaze and posture. Jacob gave a small, wry smile.

"I am not," he answered. He glanced again at Isabella. "I'm afraid I must take my leave. Isabella." He nodded at her before walking away. I looked down at the brunette in my arms.

"Who is he?" I asked. Partly because I wanted to know about the newcomer, but mostly because I was jealous. She grinned at me.

"Jealous?" she asked.

"Of course," I answered, without shame, without pretense. "Always."

"You have nothing to worry about," Isabella answered me, sliding her small hand around my waist and leaning in close. Her scent made me dizzy. She was a fine wine and I was already drunk. I grasped hold of her waist, clinging to the lifeboat in my tumultuous sea of anger and pain.

"You can't leave again," I breathed into her ear. The statement was simultaneously a plea and a demand. Something deep and primal within me recognized that if Isabella left again, I would be a different man. A furious, broken one with a thirst for blood. She held that side of me at bay. So long as she was around, there was still some good in me, some part of me that was able to recognize the purity in her and was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I was simultaneously terrified of corrupting her, and of losing her. I recognized that the combination made me especially dangerous, but I was too selfish to let her go.

Isabella pulled back and put her other hand in my face, forcing me to meet her gaze.

"Never," she answered firmly.

I believed her. With every fiber of my being, I believed her.

* * *

 **A/N:** Now that we're beginning to pick up steam, I'd like to propose a little competition: I would like to have a nice FFN appropriate cover for this story and a banner for readers to share on facebook. If you'd like to participate, please PM me a link to your cover in PDF format with a message title: HOTM Cover. If you're participating in the banner competition, PM me a link for your banner in PDF format with the message title: HOTM Banner.

The winner of the cover competition will be able to request a special scene that I will write into the story. The winner of the banner competition will be receive two chapters in advance, with special outtake/deleted scenes.

Both competitions will close at 11:59:59 PM EST on June 23rd.

Good luck, and until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7** (Scrappers)

* * *

If Rosalie hadn't approached us, I would have whisked Isabella away to do things to her that would make the devil blush.

Isabella pulled away with a blush when Rosalie cleared her throat behind us with a raised eyebrow.

"So this is why you were so adamant that I defend Mr. Masen, huh?" Rosalie demanded, boring into us with a sharp blue gaze that could have frozen ice. She was truly an intimidating woman. She gave the impression of being just ever so slightly above the rest of the world, and it made people want to put distance between themselves and her while also wanting to lean closer if only to be burned by her gaze. She was the embodiment of a spider, waiting in her web for her prey to make the slightest of mistakes.

And yet, Isabella was not intimidated.

"Oh please, Rosalie. As if I haven't been watching you drool over Emmett McCarty all night."

The faintest hint of what looked like surprise flitted across Rosalie's face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered, raising her eyebrow in challenge. Isabella winked.

"Sure, you don't," she teased. "You should just go over and talk to him. Look, he's coming this way."

Rosalie cleared her throat, and I thought I saw a hint if embarrassed cross her expression.

"There's no need for that," she answered with a haughty toss of her chin. "The DA has arrived, and I must go see how his children are doing."

"Surely you're not intimidated by my brother," I laughed. Rosalie's sharp eyes cut to me, as if surprised that I was still present in the conversation. She stared at me for a moment too long. A weaker man would've squirmed under her gaze. But I found her posturing amusing.

"Your brother?" she asked. "But his last name is McCarty."

"We have different fathers."

Rosalie tilted her head, intrigued.

"You would think that he would change his last name to Masen. Out of respect for your father."

"Yeah. You would think."

I set my jaw, and hardened my gaze, warning her off of this topic. She gave an imperceptible nod to let me know she understood my message. I respected her more for that. Emmett had reached us by then, and gave me a heavy clap on the back, but his gaze was immediately traveling the breakneck curves of Rosalie's body.

"I'm surprised you didn't whistle at her," I said dryly. Emmett grinned at my comment, but didn't take his eyes off of Rosalie's face.

"Emmett," he said, offering his hand. Rosalie, to my surprise, blushed prettily. She took his hand, and Emmett planted a gentle kiss on the back of it.

"Rosalie," she answered. I thought she sounded a little breathless. But that would be crazy. I glanced down at Isabella. She was glancing between my brother and my lawyer with a giddy grin.

"What are you doing hanging out with the likes of my brother?" Emmett asked. I almost scoffed at the bass in his voice. It was no secret that my brothers did not struggle when it came to charming women. But it was weird to watch it in action.

"I'm his lawyer," Rosalie answered. Emmett finally looked at me, a dark gleam in his eye, and his dimples out in full force. I suddenly understood.

"You mother fucker," I cursed at him. "You called the police on me?"

"Calm down," Emmett brushed me off, his gaze fixed on Rosalie again. "They were never going to actually book you."

Across the room, a flurry of commotion caught my eye. Aro and Sulpicia Van Der Clarke had arrived. I excused myself from the conversation and began making my way over to Aro. A surprisingly strong grip took hold of my arm.

"Edward, don't."

I looked down at Tanya. Something like annoyance and fury rumbled in my chest.

"What are you doing?" I demanded quietly. Coldly.

"If you want to have any sort of serious conversation with the Van Der Clarkes, you can't approach them directly. You have to be introduced."

I stared at Tanya. Her industriousness and intelligence in these situations were surprisingly useful. I almost felt bad for her. She was wasting her talents on me.

"So introduce me," I answered in a gentler tone. Tanya bit her lip.

"I-I can't. But I know someone who can." She nodded towards Eleazar. I breathed out hard through my nose and tugged my fingers through my hair. Eleazar and my family were friends. But Eleazar never did anything for free. Never.

"What is he going to want from me?" I asked Tanya in a quiet voice. Suddenly, she couldn't meet my gaze. She twirled a strand of blonde hair between her elegant fingers.

"I don't know," she said quietly.

"Bullshit," I growled, yanking her hand away from her hair. She met finally met my gaze, anger burning deep there.

"He's going to ask you to propose. To me," she answered. "Let go of me." I hadn't realized that I had tight grip around Tanya's tiny wrist. I released her and took a step back. I glanced at Aro and Sulpicia, who were making their way though the crowd as though they were King and Queen greeting the peasantry.

"I'll take my chances," I answered Tanya. I saw her expression crumple and fall as I turned away.

"You only get one shot," she said from behind me. "If you mess up, Aro won't trust you anymore. Him or Sulpicia. And then you'll never know the answers to whatever questions you want to ask them. Because one they close you out, so will everyone else related to them."

I hesitated. Then, with a labored sigh, I turned to face Tanya with a grim expression.

"Let's go to your father."

/\

Across the hall, up in the quiet balcony that overlooked the rich and glittering crowd below, Charlie Swan swirled a golden liquid over spherical ice in a low ball glass. Charlie was a fixture in this community, an upstanding citizen of the highest caliber. In his personal life, he liked order and cleanliness. He didn't get involved in the business of others, preferring instead to keep the going-ons of his life under tight wraps.

He'd been married once before, to a raven haired socialite who had ambitions beyond him. She'd been charmed by him, enamored by his quiet and steady ways. But eventually, she came to see Charlie and his incline towards the domestic for what he really was: boring. Their marriage had lasted a measly fourteen months before she filed for annulment. Now, her aspirations had been achieved. She was a Van Der Clarke. Not just any Van Der Clarke, she was Sulpicia, the most powerful woman in the community. He spied her now, her dainty arm laced prettily through that of her husband, Aro's. She had a carefully arranged smile on her face as she sailed through the crowd as though her feet didn't touch the ground. Even after all these years, she still radiated a youthful beauty.

Charlie finished his drink, closing his eyes as the golden liquid slipped down his throat, heating him from within. Cleansing him.

When he opened his eyes, he spied Renee, sitting beside her friend from high school, Phil Dwyer. Mere weeks after separating from Sulpicia, Charlie had found himself tumbling into Renee's bed, searching for some outlet from the grief and embarrassment. Renee had been easy, everything about her had been easy. She hadn't been particularly ambitious or sparkling, nothing like Sulpicia. But she had found some measure of him charming. And when she told him that she was pregnant, it wasn't love that bound him to her, it was responsibility. But Charlie wasn't stupid. He knew what Renee hoped for, and even after all of these years, he hadn't been able to give it to her: marriage. But he and Renee were getting old, their prime years were coming up close in the horizon. And if Charlie couldn't give Renee what she wanted, then how could he blame her for looking for it with someone else? He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Renee hadn't cheated on him with Phil yet, but he wouldn't be surprised when he did.

He heard the soft clacking of his daughter's heels as she ascended the stairs to find him. His heart warmed in his chest. All of the mistakes he had made in his lifetime seemed worth it when he thought about Isabella. She was the best part of him. He turned to face her when she appeared in the doorway.

"What are you doing up here, dad?" she asked quietly as she approached him, her heels silenced on the carpet. He smiled and turned back to the crowd below. She stood beside him, surveying the crowd.

"You didn't make it to dinner," Charlie observed. Isabella shifted uncomfortably beside him.

"Dad," she said, turning to face him. "With Edward, I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Charlie asked, tipping his glass towards something behind her. Isabella turned around, and it didn't take long for her to spy Edward sitting between Eleazar and Tanya Denali. Tanya was coiled around him like a serpent, her left hand fiddling with the hair at the back of Edward's head, her right hand draped across him possessively.

Edward was leaning back in his seat, relaxed, his focus on Eleazar, but his right hand resting on Tanya's knee. Isabella took a breath.

And then another one. She breathed in through her nose and held it for two seconds. Exhaled for four seconds. In for two, out for four. In for two, out for four. She became mindful of her breathing, became mindful of herself, of the feeling of her dress against her skin, her feet planted within her heels. A raw, bloody emotion blossomed within her. She stepped back and allowed it to unfurl. She analyzed it.

Fury.

It was heavy and hot and whipped through her like an arid wind, stirring up jealousy in the process. How interesting. She turned back to her father with calm eyes.

"I told you, I know what I'm doing," she repeated. Charlie observed his daughter. He hadn't seen her in a few months; between her final exams and his schedule, he had grown lazy about purchasing plane tickets to fly out to Seattle. He had always prided himself on how well he knew her, how similar to him she was. She was, in a word, beautiful. But she was as quiet and 'boring' as himself. When he went to visit her, they had always been more than content to sit in her dorm room and watch a few movies, and then go out to a small diner to eat. Nothing fancy, nothing ritzy.

She had introduced him to all of her friends, a very small group that seemed to have good upbringings. He had been confident in Isabella's trajectory. The Chinese had a curse that went, "may you live in interesting times." So Charlie had considered it a blessing that Isabella would fade into obscurity, and be as boring as the next person. But here, up on the balcony, watching his daughter as she controlled her emotion with an expertise and skill that even he didn't have, something knocked at the base of his skull and told him that something was very, very wrong. He had been gravely misinformed about Isabella's nature. And in that moment, though they stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the small balcony, he had never felt further from his daughter.

"Something's different about you," he said. He wished he had another drink. Isabella met his gaze.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Charlie was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his eyes were veiled.

"You weren't studying art history in Seattle," he said. He didn't phrase it as a question. It was an observation.

"No," Isabella answered, turning back to face the crowd. "I wasn't." Charlie nodded.

"You fooled me," he answered. "I'm a damned good police officer, but you fooled me."

"I did," Isabella answered quietly, without pretense. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," Charlie answered.

"No, I'm not," Isabella repeated.

The father and daughter pair stood in silence over the crowd for several long moments, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Charlie turned to his daughter, something akin to tears shining in his eyes.

"I grew up in this town, Bells," he said. "I knew Carlisle Masen back when he was Carlisle Cullen. We used to be friends. Good friends. Two kids from the wrong side of the tracks, surrounded by all of this glitz and glitter," he said, nodding towards the affluent crowd below them. "I got a scholarship to go to St. Pete's," he continued, referring to the high school that all of the rich kids went to. "Carlisle didn't. I think it made him jealous. We didn't talk all summer. Two days before the start of the school year, some kids from St. Pete's caught me on my way home. They wanted me to withdraw, because I didn't belong. Carlisle showed up just in time. He was all bruised knuckle and steel fist. Those kids were soft, they weren't expecting a scrapper like Carlisle."

Charlie smiled to himself, his face soft as the faded memory shimmered before him. He shook his head.

"He was always a good man. A real knuckles-to-ground scrapper type of guy. I always say that I got lucky. I got good breaks. Carlisle always had to fight to get what he had. Damned good fighter. I see bits of him in Edward." Charlie turned to Isabella and fixed her with a hard gaze. "But you and me? We're not like Carlisle. We're not like Edward. They're scrappers. And that crowd down there? They're fire, Isabella. They'll suck you in and spit you out just so they can burn brighter. They've got connections like you can't believe. That's why I wanted you out of here, far from their reach. They're dangerous. Vipers. Every last one of them."

Isabella was silent for a long time. When she met her father's gaze again, he almost didn't recognize her. He'd always remembered Isabella as the little girl with the lopsided ponytails and the serious face, who liked to slip her little hand in his and sit quietly beside him. But she was gone. The Isabella before him now was a woman who he didn't know anymore.

"You're wrong, dad," she said softly. "You're a scrapper. And you raised me to be a damned good one too."

Charlie nodded grimly.

"What did you study?" he asked. "In Seattle, I mean."

Isabella gave him a mysterious smile, but didn't answer.

* * *

 **A/N:** And the plot thickens...


End file.
